


Underhanded Arrangements

by TheMulletWhisperer



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arranged Marriage, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/F, Fake/Pretend Relationship, First Time, First Time Blow Jobs, Girl Penis, Intersex, Loss of Virginity, Romance, Slow Build, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-21
Updated: 2020-02-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:48:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22349818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMulletWhisperer/pseuds/TheMulletWhisperer
Summary: Across the Waking Sea, beyond the Blight-ravaged Ferelden and Orlais, a Nevarran noblewoman is arranged to take the hand of another in marriage, a woman she's never met, whose name she doesn't know. Neither are enthused about the new deal.But might something, in time, grow from their mutual hostility?
Relationships: Josephine Montilyet/Female Trevelyan
Comments: 12
Kudos: 69





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i cannot stop writing longfics for the life of me.
> 
> Just like all the others I'll put this disclaimer here, this work is not--at any time--abandoned, unless I change this note to state that it is. I may be very slow on updates, but I will never abandon this work. If you would like updates when I do, eventually, post new chapters, I would recommend subscribing to get updates delivered directly to your email!
> 
> If you confront me about all the G!P I write I will deny it to your face.

"I think…" Trevelyan muttered under her breath, shoving the last of the over-starched shirts into the bag that was already bursting at the seams, overstuffed with the myriad of fineries her parents had purchased her pending such a public appearance. She hadn't even gotten the chance to try them on before she was forced to find a way to fit the wardrobe's worth of clothing into the three bags she'd fought to be provided. "That's it." She nodded to herself as she mumbled. When she clicked the latch she could almost hear it groaning in protest. It was doubtful it would survive the weeks-long trip. "I'll cross that bridge when I get to it." She organized the bags in some sort of order and did another sweep of her bedroom. No doubt by the end of the day her parents would already have a Rivaini noble couple tied to the bed posts, revelling in the idea that they finally had a bed they could dirty up without having to wash it. By the time she returned for a visit she doubted she would even recognize her old room through the strange implements that littered it, just as she barely recognized what used to be the old storage shed in the rear of the house.

"Gross." She mumbled at thought, giving herself one last once-over in the mirror. Her suit was uncomfortably tight in the crotch, though that was hardly surprising. Her parents had it tailored for a woman in their obstinate refusal to accept reality, and the way it pressed into her forced her to stand with her legs slightly apart and pray to the Maker the legs were loose enough that nobody would notice that she appeared to be attempting to smuggle a roll of silvers down the inside of her thigh. The collar and cuffs were frilly in the wrong places, chafing at her neck and rubbing her wrists raw. She rarely minded a fancy flair, but only if the material wasn't woven of sandpaper and sack cloth dyed white as the lace on this clearly had been. "This has to go as _ soon _ as I reach the carriage." She picked at the stitching around her neck, trying to relieve some of the itching. No avail came of it and she sighed, stiffening up until it became bearable and standing like that. She looked rather strange, but nobody would really be  _ looking _ at her. They would see her, certainly, she was the center of the procession after all, but what people would be  _ looking _ at would be her parents, the decorations, listening to the music. The attention would be everywhere  _ but  _ her. 

"Sieger, I'm ready." She finally shouted toward her door, straightening out her jacket with a sigh that was nearly inaudible, even to her own ears. At her call the door to the chambers that were once hers groaned open, allowing entrance to the family's servant, a tall and regal man in his late fifties. He'd retained his features well, and perhaps if she were different she would have lusted after him in her younger years. "Be careful," she warned as she gestured to the semi-arranged bags, "they're bound to break if they're handled too roughly." The warning was moot, Sieger had always been an impeccable servant and rarely handled anything roughly enough that it would break. He seemed to have a sense for those things. 

"Will that be all, Lady Marinet?" He used her full name, as he always did. It was in his blood, it seemed. Marinet Trevelyan. Certainly her name sounded like a woman's, but all her life it had been attached to boys—Marinet the preacher from the Chantry, Marinet the extravagant man whore from the city. Her parents had realised their mistake some years into her childhood, and while they certainly had the pull to have the documents changed to something more fitting, they refused to admit a mistake. Instead, she went by Mari at their command, just as she wore uncomfortable trousers and scratchy collars at their command. It was a wonder they let her wear suits at all, really, far too 'manly', in their own words. Somehow, she'd managed to convince them, though. It wasn't that she was averse to wearing dresses, but found them much more comfortable on an occasion and preferred how she looked in a tailored jacket and trousers—provided they fit her properly.

"Yes." Mari nodded confidently. Her usual disorganized confusion fell to the wayside during the process of preparing to leave, she knew that leaving something behind meant that it was likely lost forever. The side-eye that Sieger gave her told her all she needed to know. He was a man of few words, but she’d learned to interpret his looks. “Sieger, I  _ swear _ . I’ve been in here for the past two hours checking every corner, every nook and cranny. I’ve not left anything behind.” He didn’t seem convinced and drew his lips into a line, looking around the room himself. “Sieger!” She shouted sharply, but they both knew it was not one of anger or irritation. He smiled quietly and collected the bags, hefting them without even a grunt of exertion, and she knew just how heavy they were. As he descended the stairs to the room’s door, she followed behind, walking backwards to bid a final farewell to the room where she’d spent the last twenty-three years of her life. 

Now was a new chapter.

* * *

Winter had fallen early over Nevarra that year, almost two weeks before it was supposed to. A light snow dusted the paving stones outside the Trevelyan manor, the wind cut through light clothing and rubbed the face raw like tiny grains of sand. That hadn’t stopped anyone from attending, both friends and enemies of the house had gathered on either side of the manor’s main path, dressed in extravagant dresses and ridiculous suits that were no doubt the current trend of Orlais. It was doubtful it would even last to the next day before it died off.

Marinet was paraded down the center, flanked on either side by her parents, putting on a proud face as they escorted her to the carriage at the far end of the path. If they were _truly_ proud or not, she wasn’t sure. It was difficult to tell, it always had been. There was no doubt to her that they loved her and would perhaps even miss her, but sending her off without supervision like this was no doubt a more pressing fear than losing their only daughter. Ever since they’d decided to allow her to attend social gatherings and, horror of horrors, have friends, they were always at her side, making sure she never said anything she wasn’t supposed to, anything that would embarrass them. Their reputation was one they had fought hard to obtain and one they obstinately refused to let go of no matter the cost, even to the quality of Mari’s childhood. In the end, though, she didn’t mind. It was nice to spend time with them, even if it was sometimes brief and fleeting.

The crowd had gathered for one reason: Mari was getting married. Or was arranged to be so, anyway, to a woman she’d never met in a country she’d never been to. The stories of it had reached her ears, of course. Antiva was a country of merchant intrigue and the only thing that separated crime and business was the amount of money involved. It certainly sounded like a high-adventure sort of land where anything went, but she was… less enthused. She didn’t want to chase a life of adventure or become a high seas pirate, in fact those things sounded rather miserable to her. She could only hope that this family was not one of those criminal types who would drag her into their dealings. After all, she was about to be family, and family was all that mattered to criminals.

Not that her parents much cared. This marriage was a sham—as most arranged marriages were—designed to bring about favorable trade with her house. Some years ago her family had run afoul of some Antivan noble or another that had set them into ruin with a wave of his hand, cutting them off from all trade outside of Nevarra and forcing them to climb the ladder of reputation all over again. And, to their credit, they did. While the Montilyet family was hardly the grand fleet-bearing trade house they were a hundred years ago, they were little to scoff at, and managing to net a marriage with them was significant. Mari was happy for them, of course, but there was a sadness in leaving her childhood home to go live with someone she didn’t know and may well never know. She knew how arranged marriages worked, this would not be one where one spouse loved the other. She knew it would only be formal, that there would be lovers on the side. And she didn’t mind one bit, she had yet to be with someone and it would remain that way until she found the right person. A ring on her finger meant nothing to either of them, she was certain.

For all the fuss being made over it, the strange party her parents had thrown to send her off, the walk really wasn’t that far. In no more than twenty steps they had reached the carriage, parked beneath what was—during the springtime—a cherry blossom tree, and beyond those two weeks a regular, indistinct tree that drew no attention whatsoever aside from the servants who had to sweep away the dying petals to keep the courtyard presentable. Sieger had already loaded up her bags in the back of the buggy, lashed to the rack and looking even worse for wear. Ultimately she wouldn’t lose much if one or two were to explode, but she doubted the Montilyets wanted to spend a fortune on new clothes for their soon-to-be daughter in law. All she could do was pray to Andraste that they didn’t break.

The inside of the carriage was warm, owing to the lanterns that hung on either side of the compartment, a welcome respite from the cold air, even if it meant she would begin sweating later in the trip. These carriages became quite humid during long rides, and this one would be over two weeks in length. "I do hope there are plenty of stops along the way." Her voice shook as the cart began across the uneven cobblestones, though once they were free of her parents' questionable decor choices it would even out. No, she was more worried about the roads they would take to Antiva. They were destined through a pass in the Free Marches, one that would no doubt be paved far more poorly than Nevarra. "I can… probably make it."

She chuckled nervously and looked around the cabin. The carriage was small and private, an understated but unmistakably noble luxury. There wasn't much room to spread out, and she could only hope that it wouldn't become too cramped for her on the trip. On the bright side, being the only passenger meant she could kick her feet up onto the opposite seat and relax. 

As the wheels of the carriage evened out, it began to settle on her the extent of what was happening. She'd said goodbye to her parents, her old life and everything she knew to be married to a woman she would very likely hate, as she did most Antivans. And yet, with all of the stress it should have been causing, she felt very little. Certainly that heaviness that always came with change had settled in her chest, anticipation of the unknown, but she could barely muster fear or anxiety over whatever may come next. All she found herself doing was kicking her feet up, fishing a book from one of her bags, and relaxing against the back of the chair, the lacy additions to her suit laying off to her side.

* * *

_ "Alas, thy apologies are in vain. You have turned your back on us, there will be no forgiveness. The king's court will decide your fate." His rapier was in his hand, it gleamed in the sunlight and spoke murder. Those at his side, his companions, the others in the King's Vanguard, they outnumbered their prey by ten. No power, blood magic or otherwise, could take them in their numbers. The plot was over, foiled.  _

_ The count stood from his desk with a defiant glint in his wrinkle-framed eye. "I am the court." He spoke in his creaky voice that they had all grown used to, one that had never carried such malice behind it. It sent a chill down the spine of that noble chevalier, one he would never admit.  _

_ "Not yet." He spat back, taking a step toward their target, the knife in the back of the king that had threatened them for so long from the shadows.  _

_ And with that the count stood, a dagger in his own hand and the intent written across his face.  _

_ "So it is treason, then." _

* * *

By the final day of the two week's ride the cabin of the carriage was stacked heavy with books and papers, some fashioned into foot and arm rests for its passenger. While there had been stops along the way in some cities to allow her a night's rest in a real bed and a proper meal, it had been largely road rations and sleeping in the increasingly uncomfortable seat. When they finally reached Antiva city, Marinet felt as if her legs would never work properly again, that she would require a cane to walk for the rest of her life. 

"We are here, my lady." The door creaked open and one of the carriage guards peered in to try and find her among the carriage-turned-library. "The Montilyets are waiting for you." He prompted when she took her time to clamber out, clearly impatient to find his way to whatever hole he'd be drinking himself into later that day when he was finally off duty. 

The first thing Mari noticed was the rain. Although it was light, it was far from a mist and was already ruining her carefully-woven red hair. Nonetheless, she took a moment to glance at her surroundings. Just as the stories she'd been told and the things she'd read, they were situated on a high cliff overlooking the main port of the city, though they seemed to be away from the bustle of the city itself. Despite that they were well away from the markets, she could smell the scent of spice and fish wafting through the air and piercing the smell of the sky that came with rain. Through the fog she could see little of the city itself beyond the flickering lights of lampposts and the lighthouse that guided in the trade ships. 

"Lady Trevelyan!" A voice that carried a distinctly different accent than she was used to called through the light patter of rain on the paving stones. Yves Montilyet, the patriarch of the family and the father of the woman she was meant to marry. He was the only one she had met, when he'd come to discuss the terms of the arrangement with her parents. He seemed like a rather uptight man, but it was good nonetheless to be met with a friendly face. Or a familiar one, at any rate. "Welcome, you're right on time." He trotted down the stairs, clutching in one hand a light pink parasol and in the other a ring of jingling keys. From what he could tell, he was dressed in the same finery he'd met with her parents in a year ago, though it may well have had some subtle differences she simply wasn't noticing. Such was the fashion of Antiva and—judging by the cut of his jacket—Orlais as well. She decided not to comment on it. "I was just preparing to lock up the manor for the night, please, allow me to help you out of this rain."

Mari nodded and took a step forward to position herself under the parasol and save her hair. It didn't seem to be very waterproof judging by the dripping, but it seemed to be avoiding her hair for the most part. "Thank you, ser Montilyet." She took the protection from his hand and followed him up the stairs, casting a farewell glance at the carriage behind her. By time the sun had come up it would be bound back for Nevarra and she would never see it again, save for some freak event or adventure, a new Blight that would mark her as a Warden and force her to return home in search of allies, or perhaps her parents inviting her back for a dinner. "I hate to be so abrupt, but I am simply exhausted from my trip, ser. Would it so offend you if I were to ask where my room is that I might rest?"

He gave her an odd look as if he'd forgotten how she spoke before wiping it clean, beaming a practiced smile to her and gesturing her along. "Certainly, lady Marinet. We will discuss arrangements in the morning when you are rested. You have come quite a long way, no?" He pushed open the heavy door to the manor and led her inside. "I trust your trip was uneventful? The Free Marches are full of bandits." His voice carried a hint of disdain but Mari wasn't entirely unsympathetic, the entire region smacked of anarchy and the fact that she was forced to keep company with so many guards on their way through was not helpful in disproving that idea.

"Our guards were impeccable, I thank you for the assistance ser." Her voice spoke but her mind was on her surroundings. The entry hall was just as opulent as she'd expected from the family, though it seemed to be falling into some ill repair that they were trying to hide. Gold leaf trim that flaked away, marble pillars with subtle cracks painted over, creaky stairs with a scuffed finish, windows that were accumulating a small amount of dirt around the sill. "It seems they're in a worse state than I thought." She whispered to herself habitually, glancing at her escort who either didn't notice or didn't care.

At this hour of night there was nobody about the manor, servant or family. It seemed she’d have to wait a bit longer to meet her new mother—and her new wife. She wouldn't lie to herself and say she wasn't anxious to meet them, to learn exactly what the rest of her life would be spent amongst. Perhaps she'd be married to the jewel of Antiva, the perfect olive-skinned beauty who would sweep her off her feet to a would of romance she could never have thought existed, or perhaps she would be married to an angry deformed bellringer with no teeth who's only concept of a bath came from the urine of the nesting bats in her clocktower. Either way, she couldn't back out without being thrown to the streets and disowned. She'd agreed, and she was locked in now. Locked in like her new wife in a clocktower.

Yves led her down a long hallway past several well-kept rooms open for display. The guest wing, she was being relegated to the guest wing as the woman who would be marrying their daughter. Sure, she should be grateful they weren't putting her in the servant's quarters, but sure couldn't help feeling a slight bit put out. Every move in Antiva was careful and calculated, everything meant something. This was no idle decision made off hand, they were putting her here for a reason. What that reason was, she wasn't certain yet, but there was no doubt in her mind that she would soon find out in one way or another, perhaps when a Crow would break in and stab her in her sleep so they could avoid blood on the good beds. 

"Here you are, lady Trevelyan." Yves gestured through the door at the end of the hallway, only a few feet from the window. It seemed somewhat cramped, but for a guest room it was still very livable and seemed comfortable enough. For now. "The servants will deliver your bags here shortly, if you wish to bathe they will have a tub delivered for you." He explained in a faux enthusiasm that masked an all too familiar exhaustion. For a moment she felt a pang of sympathy for the man, even if she didn't understand what was behind that exhaustion, it resonated with her. "I know you must be tired from your trip, I will ensure the servants know not to wake you. Once you awaken we can discuss proceedings over a hot meal, yes?" He flashed a practiced smile to her. A perfect politician, he was.

"Your kindness is appreciated, ser Montilyet. I will be certain to inform you the moment I wake." She returned his hollow smile, clearly showing off her ability to do the same. With that she left his side and shut the heavy door behind her without even offering a farewell, bolting the door for whatever security it may provide from the night assassins. From the other side of the door she could hear Yves's footsteps receding and then, finally, for the first time since she began the trip, she was truly alone with herself.

The first thing that came to mind was her lack of any 'alone time' over the past two weeks, with guards on her door at the scant few inns they'd visited and a cramped cabin for the rest. That, however, was filed away for later. Much later. She was under strict orders from her parents to hide her unnatural body from the Montilyets and she understood the reasoning behind it. There was no doubt in her mind that she would be pushed away to arm's length if they learned they'd taken a freak into their home, which would not only mean her alienation from her new family, but her old as well. This was far more important than her own personal needs, her parents were counting on her to save their house, this opportunity was worth too much to just throw away. She would have to temper herself until she found an appropriate method of disposing of the evidence, something that may take quite a significant amount of time. 

The second worry seized her shortly after the first and she deeply hoped that her parents had the foresight to purchase nightclothes for her. In the comfort of her own home she hadn't needed to worry about wearing anything while she slept, but once again she found she'd be forced to change for the good of the arrangement. "Hopefully it will be more comfortable than that lace." She grumbled, rubbing at the phantom itch on her neck left by the rough material. 

With those two fears filed away she finally felt the heavy weight of travel exhaustion fall on her shoulders like a warm blanket and it took all of her effort not to collapse on the bed right then, but it would be so woefully uncouth to be found sleeping in her travel clothes. 

Fighting sleep, she perched on one of the nearby chairs and waited for the knock of the servant on the door.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here y'all go, piping hot garbage, hope you like!
> 
> As always thank you to @DefaultJane for being a sounding board and beta reader!

Marinet awoke the next morning to harsh streams of midday sunlight pouring unhindered through the window and she lamented not having the foresight to draw the curtains the night before. From the position of the sun and intensity of the light it seemed to be just past noon, perhaps an hour or so later. To her credit, she had slept far less than she’d thought and fully expected to have woken up a day later to Yves making certain she hadn’t suddenly died. To the credit of Antiva, the bed had been so comfortable she was free of the usual pains that accompanied her waking up and, for once, felt rested and refreshed. 

With a soft groan she slid out of bed, now a reflex from her days of back pain. While she was certainly a young woman, her bed had been hard and unpleasant to sleep on, unreplaced even when she asked. She’d been used to it then, and by now comfort almost seemed more uncomfortable than the pain did. Everything about the guest room proved to be better than her own room at home, save for the size. Well lit, warmed by a fireplace, and well decorated beyond a few marketplace wall hangings. Her room in Nevarra was not the worst she had stayed in certainly, and she'd become comfortable in its barrenness, but this new standard made her wonder if she'd been conned out of something better. "If this is the room…" She trailed off, her mind wondering at the possibilities of wherever she'd next be staying. Assuming they didn't just keep her in the guest room after everything, which she supposed wouldn't be the worst outcome. 

Marinet padded across the polished wood and drew the curtains shut, plunging the room into a darkness that was only illuminated by the candles, casting long shadows over the room. The sight put her in a drowsy mood and she considered for a moment simply crawling back in bed and melting away from the world again, but she had kept Yves waiting long enough. She shed her nightclothes quickly, eager to be rid of them. While they were perfectly pleasant to wear, it was a foreign thing to have something on while she slept and it felt as if she were being constricted. When she pulled away her trousers though, she realized why exactly they'd felt so tight as she sprung free. There it stood, the bane of her existence, six inches and twitching between her legs. No doubt something in her dreams had set it off and now she was paying the price for it. "Maker take me." She sighed to herself. It would be a lie to say she wasn't tempted to solve the problem and make sure it wouldn't bother her for the rest of the day, but no solution had presented itself overnight for the disposal of the evidence. The maids at home were used to it, the secret was open amongst the staff, but were the Montilyets to find a stained bedsheet, it may raise some eyebrows. 

And so, channeling her fortitude when it came to denying herself, she went with her dressing and ignoring the problem until it deflated and allowed her to tuck it away. Were the worst to happen and she was asked to strip for some forsaken reason, all that would be visible of her unusual anatomy would be a small patch of hair, perfectly nondescript. While it had rarely been an object before, she'd made a point of learning to hide it without hurting her more sensitive parts before she was set to leave. Without any teaching material, she was left wincing and walking strangely for several days.

Dressing became an ordeal as she tried to fish out a matching set of clothing from the haphazardly-packed bags that now seemed permanently misshapen. Finally she settled on what was the most understated suit she could find amongst the dresses and lace, a black jacket with a slightly blue tint to the fabric that would keep eyes off of her. All she wanted today was to meet with Yves and then return to bed, her exhaustion was still palpable and she had no desire to socialize with the lesser members of the Montilyet household. In the back of her mind she prayed to the Maker that she would be spared any significant hangups during the meeting, though her understanding of noble politics told her it would very much not go the way she was hoping. A ten course meal and a show would be more in line with her experiences, though perhaps things would be different in Nevarra. 

Maker, she hoped they would be different. 

Perhaps it would be in her expectations to meet her bride-to-be, but it was equally as likely that they would be kept apart until the ceremony for some traditional purpose or another. With the Antivans it was a tossup and she hadn't yet gotten a read on the Montilyets, she had yet to be able to observe them and their people in the house. Right now she was blind, sailing in the fog without a lighthouse to guide her and she found herself at a distinct diplomatic disadvantage in her upcoming parlay with Yves. Her parents had given her some idea, but nowhere near enough to go off of, especially with an Antivan. She would be lucky if she had any cards in her hand by the time the day was over. Just like everything in a noble's house, this was a time for politics. With the right maneuvers she could possibly secure a better deal for her parents or at least leverage some information on the real situation beyond the show that was being put on for the enjoyment of the public and the other houses.

With that thought she extinguished the candles and the last light in the room before stepping out into the hall. Even in the midday the guest wing was largely barren and few of the rooms seemed to have been touched. Perhaps they would fill up soon in anticipation of the wedding, or perhaps they would remain empty and the wedding would turn into a family affair. "That would be quite awkward." She mumbled, shuddering at the thought of being left amongst insincere nobility for so long without a safety net to fall back on in the form of other conversation. What would no doubt be a miserable ceremony would be made infinitely worse if it was private. In an ideal world it would be a simple certificate issued by the Chantry, but appearance was everything and she doubted a struggling family like the Montilyets would pass up a chance to flaunt a political wedding to the other houses. 

In the daylight the main hall was a slightly more acceptable sight, but the way the light caught the dust on the high ledges was telling her that the previous night's assessment was accurate. Though she had little particular desire to take on the burdens of a failing house, she had no doubt she could be of some help in one way or another, and anything she could do would only help her own family.

"Oh." She jumped a bit when she noticed another presence in the foyer, lingering in the rightmost wing of the hall. In the shadows it was difficult to make out the figure, but something about them seemed unapproachable and intimidating, moreso than any guard. Their stature was reserved and tense as if they were expecting something—or someone. They may well have been some highwayman who had slipped in during the night, but that was far more unlikely than them simply being a naturally suspicious person. Besides, Trevelyan didn't much care. "Excuse me." She called out, approaching the figure that turned to face her almost immediately. In a closer light she could make out what appeared to be a woman, pale and fair skinned with a head of auburn hair. Her eyes were a deep dark that sent a chill down Mari's spine and stopped her in her tracks, though the owlish gaze on her didn't seem to carry any malice in it. "Erm, apologies. Do you perhaps know where I might go about finding ser Montilyet? I am to have a meeting with him."

The question hung in the air for a long moment as the woman studied her. Finally, she spoke up. "You are the one who's going to marry Josephine, aren't you?" Her voice was low, cold, and slightly Orlesian. Her face barely moved when she asked the question, save for a small tilt of her head.

"Um…" Mari was thrown off by the unexpected response, put further off her stride by the off look she was given. “Yes. I am. Lady Montilyet, correct?” She struggled to recover, blinking several times to try and reorganize her mind. Something about this woman was putting her off her stride and she found it difficult to switch into a more diplomatic stance. “I have yet to meet her unfortunately. Do you know her?”

The woman was silent for several seconds before she stepped out of the shadows. “I’m a friend of the family, I will be there for the wedding. Yves is at the end of that hall, in his study.” That seemed to be the end of the conversation as far as the mysterious lady was concerned, as she turned on her heel without so much as a goodbye and disappeared into a nearby hallway. She carried with her an air of intrigue that Mari couldn’t shake, she seemed to be someone who was more than she was letting on. It was intriguing, to say the least, but she didn’t have time to pursue that intrigue. 

She spun on her heel and took the direction she was given, passing by the various closed doors until she reached the decidedly more ornate one at the end of the hall, the stylized reinforcements worn down by years of use and left to degrade without refurbishing. She reached her hand up and knocked, noting the tough wood under her knuckles that scraped her skin. “Ser Montilyet, it is lady Trevelyan. You asked my presence?” It never hurt to refresh the memory of some people, either they simply thought you were being a bit long-winded or they would appreciate the reminder. Either way, it served well to avoid misunderstandings in the long run. 

“Ah, lady Trevelyan. Enter, please!” His voice was slightly muffled from the other side but she could make out what she was saying with ease. At the invitation she pushed the door open and stepped through the threshold, surveying the scene in front of her before going any further. The first thing she noticed was the musty smell that betrayed the presence of the many books that lined the walls, crammed into shelves and stacked on the floor. The room itself was small and cramped, most spaces taken up by papers and shelves that looked like they hadn’t been organized since the construction of the room. In the center sat a large desk that took up most of the space, behind which sat Yves and an older woman that Marinet had never seen before. Judging by her age it was his wife and not her soon-to-be bride, though it was never smart to assume things. “It is good you are up, we have much to discuss. This is my wife, Flora. She will be telling you of the wedding.”

“It is lovely to meet you, lady Montilyet. How do you fare?” She approached the desk but did not take a seat without being offered one. She didn’t want to seem overly-eager or presumptuous, such a thing would not make a good impression.

“I am well, lady Trevelyan. How was your rest, I trust everything was to your satisfaction?” Flora’s accent was just as heavy as Yves’s, carrying a pronounced roll of the tongue on each ‘R’. She was a rather beautiful woman even in her older age, her hair had retained its natural black and was barely showing signs of graying, and she had held her face well through the years. If that was to be any indication, between her and Yves perhaps there was little to worry about in her wife’s beauty. Not that it much mattered she supposed, despite her concerns of vanity. 

"Your rooms are lovely, lady Montilyet, they were well worth the wait of the trip."  _ Far nicer than anything at home _ she finished her thought in her head but didn't dare repeat something like that, instead flashing a simple smile that carried little behind it. She could not over-compliment, nor could she reveal the state of her own House and old accommodations. These conversations were meant to be surface level, as she'd been taught. Anything more was a weakness, and it would be quite a time before she could let her guard down around the family and say what she meant. 

“It is good you are pleased, lady Trevelyan.” Yves responded for his wife. “Please, take a seat.” He motioned to one of the padded chairs at her side that she had let go ignored. Mari gladly took the invitation, sinking into the broken-in chair and letting the soft cushions bleed the tension from her bones. The weariness of the travel had not yet gone and it was little help that she still felt moments from sleep, but there were important things to deal with before she could properly relax again. “We wished to discuss with you the plans for the wedding, and what will come after.”

“Certainly. Please.” She gestured for him to continue. This was the meat of the deal that she was looking for, the terms of the deal would be laid out here on the table for her to review. If they were not to her satisfaction, it would be a careful dance to try and get them changed without seeming offensive to the Montilyets. 

“Very good.” Yves sat forward and folded his hands on the desk, casting a side glance to his wife. “The wedding will be held in a week’s time, we wish you to meet our daughter first and become comfortable with one-another. It will be a public affair, of course, many other houses will be in attendance and we wish to entertain them properly.” He paused to give effect to his words, effect that was not lost on Marinet. It was a none-too-subtle hint that she was expected to be on her best behavior during the wedding, and to make certain Josephine would be too. “You will be provided with tailored garments for the ceremony,” he continued, “I understand you seem to prefer suits, but it is Antivan tradition that a bride wear a dress. I am certain you understand.”

Marinet nodded and crossed her legs, hoping only that it would be of a suitable and comfortable fabric and large enough to hide any potential… issues. “Of course, ser Montilyet. I would not wish to snub tradition.” She granted him a reserved smile but little more, careful not to appear over-eager. “And what of after the wedding?”

Flora spoke up in Yves’s place, cutting him off as he was opened his mouth to speak. “Your arrangements will be yours to discuss with Josephine, we will not intrude. If you wish, we can have a more permanent room made up for you. Separate from hers. But we would greatly appreciate if you made an effort with her. We understand that she may not be—” 

“What my wife is trying to say,” Yves intruded, stopping her before she could finish her thought. It was little wonder why, she seemed far more tactless than he was, but Marinet couldn’t help appreciating it. Through all the politics, a straight-talker was appreciated on occasion, and she had little interest in exploiting whatever Flora would say. Not that she would ever admit that. “Is that any troubles will be your own to solve, we will not intrude. If you believe it to be in the best interests of the marriage after speaking with my daughter, we will do our best to accommodate what you need for comfort, within reason.”

“I greatly appreciate it, ser and madame. I assure you I will do my best to ensure this marriage remains a stable and prosperous one, your support is welcome.” She interlocked her fingers and rested her hands on her lap. “When will am I to meet your daughter? Josephine, you said?” 

“Josephine, yes.” Flora once again overtook Yves. “We have a dinner planned for tomorrow night, it would be wonderful if you could attend.” Her smile, in comparison to those exchanged between her and Yves, was radiant and joyful.

“Of course, lady Montilyet, I would be happy to attend.” She returned a bright smile, ignoring convention for the moment and allowing a slight friendliness shine through despite her better judgement. “I would ask that a servant fetch me when it is to begin, I am afraid I am still rather tired from my journey and may sleep through the day.”

“Of course, lady Marinet.” Yves returned the conversation with a slight irritation underlying his tone. His diplomatic demeanor seemed to be cracking and Mari didn’t want to be around when it did. Flora seemed to be at odds with him, something she could leverage if she  _ really  _ needed to. “If you have need of anything, speak to any of the servants and they can direct you. I will have them bring up a meal later tonight.” His dismissal was not direct but she caught on to it.

“Thank you very much, ser Montilyet. I will have my leave now, thank you.” She stood and gave a slight nod. In most cases she would bow or curtsy, but she was no longer  expected to be deferential. Instead she simply took her leave back to her room.

* * *

_ “Have you heard tell of the tragedy of Friedwart the Scholar?” The count craned his neck to a side glance at his young companion. An uneasy silence fell betwixt as the winds danced through the trees below the balcony. _

_ “Nay.” The magister boy responded, eyes dancing in curiosity. _

_ “As expected. It is not a story the Chantry would tell you. It is a legend amongst blood mages. A mage of great power, a scholar, so powerful that he could manipulate the fabric of the fade itself. He possessed a grand, flowing knowledge of the tapestry of magic, so much so that he found himself capable of saving those he cared for from certain death, should he so choose.” _

_ He knew his words, those that would catch the attention of the boy. His young protege, though he did not know it. _

* * *

Marinet sighed and slipped the small ribbon into the spine of her well-worn book, setting it aside on the night table. Only a few had come to her room with her, the rest had been transferred to a box in the library at her request. So many would surely not fit in the limited space she was given. 

The light of the afternoon gave way to the shimmer of twilight beyond the window and she still found herself unable to sleep. As well as her conversation had gone with the Montilyets, she could not shake a heavy feeling that something was off. Perhaps the way Yves acted when his wife seemed to flagrantly disobey him, perhaps the way he had not referred to his daughter by name. “Surely it was only politics.” She reassured herself, pulling the blankets up to her chest to shut out the cold that seeped through the panes of the window.

Marriages in political houses were rarely stable, but the anger in Yves’s voice spoke to something else, something deeper. She could pass no judgement, nor could she discern why the anger had come, and it was not yet her place to speak on it. And yet it put her on edge in a way that she could not yet fully understand, shrouded in a dark mystery. It was not in her blood to pursue things beyond her means, but this tugged at her, urged her on. It would be difficult to shake the feeling.

Perhaps the next day’s dinner would help her understand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes I'm referencing a lot of Star Wars don't worry you'll get other properties later.


End file.
